The Wedding Night of Eomer King and Lothiriel of Dol Amroth
by Ithilgael
Summary: It's a wedding night … what do you expect?


**The Wedding Night of Eomer King and Lothiriel of Dol Amroth**

 **Author:** Ithilgael

 **Beta:** Spell check

 **Rating:** M (I think)

 **Warning:** A wedding night, nuff said.

 **Disclaimer:** I sadly own nothing, and I do not make any money with it. Please don't sue me. (Not that you would get very much...)

 **Author's Note:** At the end of the story.

 **Summary:** It's a wedding night … what do you expect?

oOoOo

 **The Wedding Night of Eomer King and Lothiriel of Dol Amroth**

 _Edoras, Winter 3021, 3rd Age_

It was with mixed feelings, and a lot more sober than he ever expected, that Eomer King of Rohan left the reception of his wedding.

None of the catcalls that he himself had uttered time and time again when friends and comrades had married followed him when he left the hall to join his young bride. While in the White City it had become quite clear that such behaviour was considered „barbaric". Therefore the festivities had been as stately as possible for a people so down to earth as the people of Rohan. Not at all what he had always envisioned for himself.

Like everything from the moment Theodreds body had been brought back from the Fords of Isen.

With the battle of the Morannon ended he had had to start the rebuilding of the Riddermark. At that time he had not known the amount of destruction that Saruman's forces had wrought. He had prepared for the worst – and the actual destruction had surpassed his expectations in the tenfold.

But during all this, Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth, had become his trusted friend and one of his best advisors. First he had discovered that his sister Eowyn was not dead. In Minas Tirith he had even gone so far to ask his only daughter Lothiriel, a healer in the houses of healing, to look after her. And the following battles had forged their friendship and alliance.

On the way back to Minas Tirith Imrahil had come up with the idea of a marriage to unite their houses. A marriage as a symbol for the unification of the People of Middle Earth. And furthermore, he had explained, that this would enable to send more provisions to the Mark, as part of Lothiriels dowry.

Although he had known at that time that he would need help from Gondor, he had refused the offer. Marriages were simply not arranged in the Mark. There were whole lays of young shieldmaidens who opposed fathers trying to force marriages to unwanted husbands. Those lays usually ended with a sword in the belly of the would-be-husbands. Eowyn would have his head.

He had answered, politely, that although the offer was honouring him, such a marriage would not be acceptable in the Mark. Especially without the consent of the bride. At that time Imrahil had relented, but asked whether he would be susceptible to the idea if it were according to Lothiriels wishes. That there were no acceptable husbands in Gondor and that Lothiriel would be delighted to have such an important task as the rebuilding of Rohan.

In the end they had agreed that Imrahil would ask Lothiriel, and that even if she were agreeable to the idea it would not become common knowledge until after Théoden's funeral.

He had been surprised when Lothiriels response had actually been positive.

And according to his wishes the knowledge of his own betrothal had been kept secret until after Théoden's funeral.

He had stood up at Eowyns betrothal feast and announced his own betrothal. As a surprise for Eowyn but especially for the people of the Mark.

As he had expected Eowyn had not been pleased with him. But this way she had not been able thwart his plans. Eowyn was far to romantic for her own good and wanted him to find the same happiness she had with Faramir. But he was realistic enough to see that real romance would not be part of his future.

Lothiriel and he would find an acceptable arrangement in their marriage and that was that.

Eowyn was the one who enlighted him: Separate bedrooms, mistresses. The noble women of Gondor considered it luck when their husbands only entered their bedrooms for the production of heirs. She had seen her fair share of those women in the houses of healing after the battle. Dressed in black because society expected it of them, but smiling after seeing the dead and mutilated body of their husband. Brutally slain in the Battle of the Pelennor fields. Free at last.

He had dismissed Eowyns fears as „Exceptions".

Even Faramir had tried to tell him that he should not expect something akin to personal happiness in his marriage. He even alluded to the possibility that Imrahil had supervised Lothiriel when she penned her letter of acceptance. Pointing out that a woman of Gondor had no free will, that it was either her father or her husband deciding for her.

He had dismissed that also. Imrahil was his friend after all.

In the following months he had slowly started to suspect that they could be right after all. His contact to Lothiriel had been limited at best. Her letters contained nothing personal. Their brief encounters had been under strict supervision. He had got no personal information from her. Her small talk had been exceptionable, but he did not know his bride.

Well, he had the rest of his life to get to know her he mused.

The corridor to the royal quarters was deserted. When he reached the door to his – their – rooms, he carefully knocked on the door.

It would not do to frighten his bride. Although she had not seemed frightened. Calm and collected she had uttered her vows, had set next to him during the festivities and eaten a normal share of food.

No visible fear, but also no joy.

When he opened the door he expected her in the sitting room. But the only movement in the room was the fire crackling in the hearth. He went down the private corridor to the bedchamber. The door was slightly ajar and he carefully pushed it open.

There she stood.

Lothiriel of Dol Amroth was the epitome of Gondorian beauty. Nearly black hair loosely tied together, Stormy grey eyes, pale skin, full lips. Clad only in a silken night robe, tightly tied around the waist. Showing a perfectly formed body.

His argument with Gimli flashed up. No - the Lady Galadriel never could compare to the perfect beauty of the woman in front of him.

„My Lord King! I did not expect you so soon." Although her voice had been controlled and her face still did not show any emotion it seemed she was nervous after all, although she hid it more than well. He would not call nearly an hourglass soon after her retirement. Especially considering the fact, that a wedding night was to follow.

That he had no intention of going through with it, she did not know. In the Riddermark you did not spent the night with a woman you barely knew. That would be to treat her like a common whore. And Eowyn had advised him, that the woman of Gondor were kept as ignorant as possible on the happenings between a husband and a wife. Pointing out in her direct way that he was an big horny oaf and Lothiriel a gently bred maiden.

„I thought we could use the time to get to know one another." He replied in an even voice. And motioned for her to follow him back to the sitting room.

„Of course my Lord." When she started her way out of the bedroom she carefully snatched a small vial that had been placed next to a trencher with water. He had the distinct feeling that she did not want him to see that vial.

Unbidden thoughts of Grima rose up in him. But he dismissed them. Lothiriel was the daughter of one of his best friends after all.

He followed her through the corridor back to the sitting room. Painfully aware of the body in front of him.

When they arrived in the sitting room he bade her sitting in one of the comfortable armchairs next to the fire. And took the one opposite her. Painfully aware of the fact that what ever happened tonight would determine the course of his future life.

„My Lady," he started, carefully choosing his words. Using the same stilted speech he had perfected in the councilrooms in the last months. „I do realise that such arrangements as our marriage are common in Gondor, but in the Riddermark they are highly unusual, if not downright frowned upon. The fact that Gondorian protocol has kept us from getting to know one another before our marriage is making this arrangement even more difficult. Especially for you. I would appease you as far as possible from your fears of your life in Rohan and answer you your undoubtly numerous questions. But before all that I must tell you that I have no intention of claiming my marital rights without your explicit consent. Marital rights, as described by your fathers advisors during the marriage contract negotiations, do not exist in the Mark. I ask only one thing from you in the future, that you will be honest with me."

For the second time that evening he saw flash of emotion in the face of his wife. A small crease formed on her forehead. Then she seemed to come to decision.

„My Lord I am grateful for your care of my wellbeing. I would like to thank you again for your offer of marriage and I assure you that I have no intention of changing your life. I will endeavour to be you a good queen and mother to your heirs."

He was carefully observing her while she spoke. And trying not to show any reaction to her words, lest he frighten her with his reaction, and so hindering her at being honest.

„I am willing to fulfil my marital duties to your every wish. It is not my place to gainsay you. As a healer I am able to determine my most fertile phases, so you do not have to spend more time with me than is necessary, if that is your wish. I also assure you that I will not stand between you and your preferred company. If there is such a person or persons at the court I would like to know their names so that I will not thwart their attentions to you.

In the past my father has found the information I was able to gather in the houses of healing most useful. If it is your wish I am willing to continue to use my knowledge in the art of healing for the benefit of the ruling of the country, but please be assured that I am willing to serve you in every capacity you see fit."

Let me also assure you that I will not deliver any information to my father that you do not want him to get. With my marriage to you my allegiance to Dol Amroth was severed."

She stopped there. Observing his every reaction. It seemed he had become far better at concealing his emotions than he had expected. A last thing he had to know.

„My Lady, I saw the small vial you snatched from the table when you left the bedroom. May I ask what is in it?"

For the third time that evening he saw emotions in her face. And this time they were evident. Fear was written all over that pretty face.

„It is a draught, My Lord, that is supposed to calm the nerves of brides on their wedding night."

„May I see it?" he replied, still surprisingly even voiced.

„Of course, my Lord." Fear written all over her face as she offered him the vial.

Carefully he took vial. It contained a clear oily liquid. On a whim, and although he had no healing knowledge, he removed the stopper from the vial and sniffed its content. The face of the beautiful woman in front of him changed from pale to ashen.

Surprisingly he did know the scent.

From the war.

Or, to be more precise, in the field houses of healing, the tents where the healers removed mangled limps. The substance would be given to the patient before the procedure started. It would dull the pain but even more importantly make them forget the whole procedure.

She was a healer. She had to know effect the substance would have on her.

So that was it what the beautiful woman in front of him expected for her future life.

Fulfilling her marital duties drugged because she would not be able to stand what happened to her.

Watching him cuckolding her at every opportunity.

Serving as I spy either for him or her father. Using the information gathered at a place of healing to destroy and control political opponents.

Eomer, King of the Riddermark slowly stood from the comfortable armchair he had been sitting on.

It was even worse than what Eowyn and Faramir had warned him of.

Becoming a rapist or not producing an heir. Breaking one of the most sacred laws of the Riddermark or not fulfilling his duty as its King.

And his very own Grima in the midst of the court.

 _The End_

Written: 16./17. October 2015

oOoOo

 **Authors Note:**

(changed after the first reviews because obviously I was not clear enough)

I know this was most probably not the story you expected from the summary. And I am not even sure that I have been able to convey what I wanted to convey. That is up for you to decide. I would be glad to receive feedback.

In the past months I have read to many stories of arranged marriage scenarios that depicted "arranged" (in the way that were described: forced) marriages as something romantic. A woman enjoying having sex against her will because her partner was soooooo handsome. Just give them a good „ride" and they will enjoy it.

I have nothing against arranged marriages that are done with the consent of bride and groom. They can be as happy as any "love-match". They can and will work when both parties involved are not averse to each other.

But there are exceptions to that rule! Where bride and/or groom have no say in the matter. They are sold off like cattle brought for slaughter. The reasons for the behaviour of the parents differ. And yes, it can also be the grooms that are unhappy in such a marriage.

For the women the worst case is a life of serious abuse - be it in sexual, physical or psychological form.

In the history of Europe there were a lot of cases where exactly that happened. You only have to look at the stories of the Medici or the Borgia.

And my hackles rise when I read a story that dismisses the fears of (mostly) the bride and redicules them. Portraying grooms/husbands that abuse their wife as desirable.

If you really believe being forced into a marriage with a complete stranger (and I mean stranger, not the partner you agreed to during the arrangements) would be just the thing you want in your life: Enter the next shopping mall. And imagine the third man/woman passing you by to be your future partner. Imagine having sex with that person. Try that three times. And really think about how many of those you would have chosen for yourself or whether you would prefer to stay single. And whether a story going in that direction is really "romantic"

oOoOo

A note on grammar and spelling:

I am quite sure there is not everything right with this story. English is not my mother-tongue. And I have not written something creative in a very long time. It was written out of a whim because I had to. Various versions of this story were floating in my head and did not leave me alone.

Maybe I should give it to a beta, but I fear that that might change to much of what I intended to say, or might even loose the nerve to post it. But if you point out the occasional spelling mistake I would be glad to clear those up.


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